Space Plague (8 page)

John twisted the throttle, sending the nebula-diver rocketing towards the nebula’s core. Immediately, a swirling blast of gas caught the tiny, bullet-shaped craft, blowing it off course. Pulling the steering control this way and that, John struggled to regain control. It wasn’t easy. Flying the pod was nothing like piloting a normal spacecraft. The little machine felt as light as a feather and was totally at the mercy of the flurries of gas outside. And the heat was rising steeply, too. John’s fingers felt slippery and sweat ran down his forehead as he fought to steer the pod.

“Automatic temperature controls engaged,” said an electronic voice in his ear. Immediately, John began to feel somewhat cooler and he realized that the flightsuit he was wearing had inbuilt technology that adjusted to keep him comfortable in all environments.

John glanced at the navigation screen, which Mordant had remote programmed from the Talios. It showed a thirty-minute countdown and a flashing light marked the rendezvous point. John needed no help finding the core; its glare filled the pod’s small viewing window.

Suddenly, another gust of hot gas sent the craft tumbling back the way it had come. Giving the jets more thrust, John swerved crazily through the thick mist. Through the viewing screen, he caught a glimpse of Mordant Talliver in the pilot’s seat of the Talios, a smug look on his face as he touched the control panels.

Mordant’s arrogant look brought back a flood of memories. All the times the black-tentacled boy had schemed to get John into trouble hit him at once. As the pod surged back towards the nebula’s core, he felt a rising surge of panic, realizing that his survival depended solely on Mordant Talliver, who – only two weeks earlier – had tried to turn Emmie against him and sabotaged deadly Defendroid robots that might have killed him and Kaal at the Space Spectacular show. In his haste to get to the Zaleta Nebula, John hadn’t stopped to dwell on why Mordant had volunteered to come along. Now, it was quickly dawning on him how strangely the half-Gargon boy was behaving. Of all people, why would Mordant Talliver offer to join him on a life-threatening mission?

What possible reason would he have?

He’s trying to get rid of me.

“You’re doing OK, John,” said Mordant’s voice through a speaker by John’s head. “Follow your current heading. See you in twenty-nine minutes.”

An icy chill crept down John’s spine. Would Mordant be there when he got back? It would be easy for him to fly back to Hyperspace High, claiming that John had never returned from the nebula’s core. No one would ever be able to prove otherwise.

No, he wanted to take the pod himself
, John reminded himself.
He would have trusted me to stay for him. I
have
to trust him.

Pushing these fears to the back of his mind, John jerked the throttle. The tiny pod roared forward.

Another squall of gas hit, threatening to throw him off course once more. John wrenched the steering control around, breathing heavily and feeling more claustrophobic within the narrow space with every passing second.
It’s like cyber jousting
, he told himself.
Just find the balance and trust yourself.
Remembering the way that Emmie stayed on top of a ball with perfect poise, John turned the ship slightly, trying to ride the wind instead of battling against it.

It worked. The nebula-diver was still buffeted by streaming hot gases, but now it was travelling faster and staying on course.

“Flightsuit control systems degrading,” said the electronic voice in his ear. “Twenty minutes to failure.”

John glanced at the navigation screen. Twenty-three minutes before he had to get back. For the last three of those minutes, the flightsuit would offer no protection at all. Only the hull of the pod itself would protect him from the deadly heat and radiation. He twisted the throttle again, wringing every last ounce of speed from the little machine. Minutes passed. By now, the gas outside John’s viewing screen had become so dense that John could see nothing but a bright glare. The winds dropped, making flying easier. A read-out on the navigation display told him that the temperature outside was now over 5,000 degrees Celsius, as hot as the surface of the sun.

Seventeen minutes left.

Forehead lined in concentration, John sent the nebula-diver skimming onward. He could feel the heat building again, as the flightsuit’s systems began to collapse.

How will I know when to collect the microbes?

John gulped as the thought hit him. He glanced at the navigation panel. In less than two minutes he would have used up half of his time. If there was any chance of making it back to the Talios safely, he would have to start his return journey soon. He had to get the microbes and start heading back.

But if I’m not at the core, I’ll just be going back with canisters full of useless gas.

A memory stirred. John was sitting in front of a ThinScreen in Hyperspace High’s library with Emmie, revising Galactic Geography. Zepp had been speaking while they both scribbled notes. In his head, John could hear Zepp’s voice: “The core of a nebula is surrounded by turbulent gas but, within the core itself, there is a steady gravitational force.”

John eased off the throttle. The tiny pod continued to slip through the dense gas smoothly. The wind outside had dropped to nothing.

I’m already inside the core.

John quickly fired braking jets, bringing the pod to a stop. He reached for the lever that would fill the empty canisters with the core’s precious gas microbes. Gripping the lever, he pushed.

Nothing happened.

John’s hands scrabbled across the tiny control panel, flicking whatever switches they touched. Still nothing.

Grasping the suction lever again, he pulled it. This time, a steady whirring sound began behind him. John wriggled, trying to create enough room to see over his shoulder. The six clear canisters were filling up quickly. Within each was a pale blue mist, tiny microbes sparking like miniscule suns. The mist became more and more dense until a buzz sounded, and a green light switched to red on the panel in front of him.

Full. Get me out of here.

“Flightsuit failure in fourteen minutes.”

With a shock, John realized he was panting. The pod was like an oven, and his skin was slick with sweat. Pushing the lever back to its original position, he sealed the canisters. With a last glance over his shoulder at the twinkling tubes of gas, he muttered, “You’d better work,” and curled his fingers around the throttle. A second later, the nebula-diver swept round, and began heading back the way it had come.

As the tiny diver made its way away from the core, John could feel the temperature rising sharply.

“Flightsuit failure in eight minutes.”

“
Come on
!
” John gasped. Beads of sweat trickled into his eyes, but there was nothing he could do about them. Blinking, he silently urged the pod onward, keeping the throttle open to maximum, and glanced at the small navigation panel. He was less than a third of the way back to the rendezvous point. Breathing in the hot air, he twisted the steering control as a gust of gas hurled the pod sideways.

“Flightsuit failure in five minutes.”

The heat was intense now, the river of sweat pouring into John’s eyes almost blinding. Gasping hot lungfuls of air, he blinked, searching through the swirling mist for the shining-red Talios, even though he knew he was still too far away.
Hang in there, John
, he told himself.
Only a few minutes to go
.
And then you’ll be flying back to Hyperspace High with the microbes that will cure Kaal and Emmie.

“Flightsuit failure in one minute.”

By now, the suit’s systems were functioning at a bare minimum, and John knew he would soon be roasted alive by the heat radiating from the nebula. He tightened his grip on the throttle and steered the nebula-diver away from the core.

“Please be there, Mordant. Please be there,” John repeated over and over to himself as he wrestled the tiny pod against external forces, bringing it closer and closer to the point he was to meet the half-Gargon. He glanced at the time. The swirling gases were thinning now. John peered ahead, shaking his head to try and clear his sight. The navigation panel flashed. He had made it to the rendezvous point.

A groan escaped John’s mouth. The Talios 720 was nowhere to be seen.

“Mordant. Come in,
Mordant.
Can you hear me?” John yelled into the microphone next to his head. The only response was the crackle of static. Through clouds of gas, John could see stars blinking, but no sign of the Talios 720. Firing jets to spin the craft, he looked in every direction. Nothing. He was alone.

John tried the communications once more, an edge of desperation in his voice now. “Come on, answer for crying out loud. Stop this, Mordant. You can’t just leave me here.”

A steady hiss was all he heard.

John smashed a fist into the control panel. “I guess I was right about you after all,” he spat. “I should have listened to my instincts.”

“Flightsuit system failure,” said the electronic voice. John sucked in a lungful of hot air. Already the heat was almost unbearable, and he had no extra protection now. Soon radiation from the nebula’s core would overwhelm the pod. At the same time, its gravity would pull the pod back towards it. Long before any rescuers arrived – supposing any even did – the pod would be utterly destroyed and John along with it.

The microbes will never make it back to Hyperspace High
, he thought to himself.
Kaal will die. Maybe Emmie, too. And hundreds of others.

Knowing it was useless, he jabbed a finger at the communications system again, switching to all the emergency channels Sergeant Jegger had taught him. “Distress call level one. Repeat: distress call level one. All ships. Nebula-diver stranded at the core of the Zaleta Nebula. Coordinates two-two-six-three-seven. Distress call level one.” At the same time, he twisted the throttle again, surging the pod forward. Blinking sweat out of his eyes, John powered away from the glowing core. There wasn’t enough fuel in the pod to get back to Hyperspace High, or even to escape the nebula, but if he could get further from the core, at least it would take longer to be sucked back in. Further away it would be slightly cooler, too. Maybe the extra time it gave him might be long enough for a passing ship to hear his message and rescue him.

Yeah, right,
John told himself, shaking his head sadly. The chances of a ship close enough to even hear his message were minute.

As the pod moved through the nebula on wings of roaring gas, John felt unexpectedly calm, as if his mind had become detached from the heat and the thirst and the terror. Instead, he looked around him, marvelling afresh at the sight of the Zaleta Nebula. Whatever fate awaited him, he was light years from Earth, seeing wonders no human being had ever dreamed of.

It’s not such a bad way to die
, John thought.
I just wish they knew on Hyperspace High that I did my best for them.
With a sigh, John watched glimmering tangles of gas in which stars being born, wondering if Lorem would find a way to tell his parents what had happened to him.

A spark of light caught his attention.
A new sun
?
he wondered, as his struggled to absorb what was happening around him.

Seconds later, the spark turned into the roaring engines of a Talios 720. John hardly recognized it as the same ship that he had left half an hour earlier. Its shining red hull was covered in dents, scratches, and deep scars. Nevertheless, the engines were working and that was the only thing John cared about. He managed to let out a small cheer as the ship manoeuvred above him. A loud clunk signalled that the docking system had locked on. The hatch clanked open.

“Did you get the microbes?” demanded Mordant, before falling back, coughing, as a blast of hot air rose from the nebula-diver. “
Whoa
, you still alive in there?”

“Water,” John choked as he rose from the hatch in a cloud of steam and collapsed into the co-pilot’s seat. “Give me water.”

Mordant yanked open a locker and handed him a bottle. John twisted the top off, pouring a stream down his throat and over his face. A few seconds later, he looked at the half-Gargon sharply. “Where have you been? You were supposed to wait for me. I could have died.”

Mordant shrugged. “And you
would
have died if it hadn’t been for me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“While I was waiting, a meteor came out of nowhere,” Mordant explained. “Pulled in by the nebula core’s gravity, I guess. Anyway, the ship’s computer calculated it was on a collision course with you.”

John wiped water and sweat from his eyes. “I didn’t see any meteor,” he said.

“Of course you didn’t. I managed to change its trajectory.”

“You did
what
?” John cried. “But there aren’t any weapons on this ship. How did you make it change course?”

“With the ship,” said Mordant. “Didn’t you notice it’s a bit banged up?”

John’s eyes widened in surprise. “Let me get this straight,” he blurted. “You crashed Sergeant Jegger’s ship into a meteor on purpose to make sure it wouldn’t hit me?”

“Yes. I would have told you I was going to be late, but the communications system kind of got mashed.”

“You did that to save
me
?” John stared at Mordant Talliver, his jaw hanging open.

Mordant scowled. “No, idiot. I did it to save the
mission
. Speaking of which, let’s get out of here. You got the microbes, right?”

John nodded, happy to let the half-Gargon fly them back to Hyperspace High.

“Ready?” asked Mordant, glancing over at him.

The safety harness closed around John. “Ready,” he said.

An hour later, John was leaning forward over the scanner. “We’ve picked up a tail,” he said. “Two ships off our port and starboard bows. Maintaining their distance.”

“Probably Captain whatshisname – Lassco – again,” Mordant replied calmly. “Giving us an escort back for the last lap. Not much use now. Those antimatter blasters would have been helpful with that meteor earlier, though.”

“I guess they had to keep the quarantine perimeter in place,” John replied. “Besides, we got through OK.”

“All that’s left is to land this thing and hope the headmaster was right about those microbes,” Mordant said, nodding at the viewing screen. Ahead was the vast, white shape of Hyperspace High, lights blazing at every viewing window.

“Will you be OK to bring her in?” John asked.

He got a withering look in return. “Do I
look
like I need your help?”

After all they’d been through, John decided to let it pass.

As Mordant sent the Talios diving towards the ship, the main hangar doors opened. A few seconds later, the ship settled onto the deck. Behind them the bay doors slid back into place. With a roaring sound that lasted a few seconds, the hangar was flooded with oxygen. Not waiting to change out of his flightsuit, John yanked open the hatch to the nebula-diving pod and its precious cargo.

* * *

Mordant and John stepped down carefully from the battered Talios, each cradling three of the nebula-diver’s canisters. A door opened. Two Examiners appeared from a TravelTube and glided towards the boys at top speed.

“Students John Riley and Mordant Talliver, you have broken sixteen level-one school rules and eight level-two school rules. Proceed to the detention centre and prepare to be expelled.”

“Sorry,” said John, continuing ahead. “We’re busy right now.”

“Rule zero-zero-eight-three: Examiners are to be obeyed at all times. Failure to comply will ensure more severe punishment.”

“
More
severe?” said Mordant, walking alongside John. “How much more severe are we talking? When you expel us, are you going to call us names, too?”

“Proceed to airlock BZ. Comply within three seconds.” Lights began to flash across the Examiners’ heads as they prepared to use their paralysing force fields.

“Zepp!” called John quickly. “Can you help us out here?”

The Examiners’ lights faded. “Rule siiix-twooo...” the first robot droned, its voice slowing. A second later, both robots dropped to the floor, their egg-shaped bodies rolling lifelessly.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” said Zepp’s voice, sounding cheerful. “The Examiners are supposed to be untouchable. No one has
ever
turned them off before.”

“You’re brilliant, Zepp,” said John. “Could you—”

“...make sure you don’t meet any more between here and the medical wing?” said the computer, anticipating the rest of John’s question. “I’m sure I can divert the rest of them.”

“Medical wing,” the TravelTube announced a few moments later. John and Mordant raced through the doors before they had fully opened.

“Dr Kasaria!” John shouted, as they sprinted into the reception area. “We’ve got a cure!”

John skidded to a halt, Mordant close behind him, as they both looked around in shock. The situation had deteriorated even further while they had been away. Dr Kasaria was taking notes at her desk. Her forehead was slick with sweat, her metallic-looking skin glowing, her black eyes were glazed and weary-looking.
She’s getting sick
, John thought. Through the screen into the quarantine ward, he could see Meteor Medics hurrying between beds of screaming patients.

Straightening up, Dr Kasaria glared at the two boys. “What do you want
now
, John Riley?” she snapped. “Kaal’s condition has not improved. As you can see, no one’s condition has improved.”

“This might help,” John said softly, holding up a tube of sparkling blue gas for the doctor to see.

Whatever reaction John had been expecting, it certainly wasn’t a scowl. “Out of all the thousands of staff and students on Hyperspace High, only ninety-six do
not
have Zhaldarian Flu,” Dr Kasaria said firmly. “Several of my patients are not expected to make it through the night.” She paused for a second, fixing John and Mordant with an icy look. “And you two are playing games with me.”

“We’re
not
playing games,” replied John urgently. “These canisters contain microbes from the centre of the Zaleta Nebula. The headmaster said there were some scientists who believed this could cure Zhaldraian Flu.”

“What scientists? What were they called?” the doctor barked, rising from her chair.
Was the doctor just worried and overtired
, wondered John,
or was her angry reaction an early symptom of the sickness?

“I... uh... don’t know their names.”

“That’s because there are no such scientists!” Dr Kasaria shrieked. “Anyone who had found a cure for Zhaldarian Flu would be among the most famous scientists in the universe. Yet you don’t know their names, and neither do I!”

“But—”

“No buts, John Riley,” the doctor spat, pounding her fist on the desk. “There is
no
cure for Zhaldarian Flu. Now stop wasting my time and leave before I call an Examiner.”

“Come on, John, let’s get out of here,” hissed Mordant, pulling at John’s elbow.

“No, Mordant. We have to—”

“Just come,” hissed the half-Gargon. Something in his tone forced John to turn.

“We’ve got to get the microbes to the patients,” said John desperately, as Mordant dragged him into the corridor.

“Yes, but we’re not going to do it getting hauled off by Examiners!” Mordant shot back. “We’ll have to find some other way in.”

John glanced up into Mordant’s eyes. “Have you got a plan?”

Slowly, Mordant nodded. “We need a distraction,” he said.

“What distraction is going to keep Dr Kasaria from her patients?” John replied.

“The only one she won’t be able to resist,” said Mordant, handing John the canisters.

* * *

“Dr Kasaria, it’s Mordant. He’s sick!” John yelled, as he helped the half-Gargon back through the door of the medical wing. “We made it as far as the Centre and he suddenly collapsed.”

“Oh, I feel
terrible
,” Mordant groaned. “I must be coming down with something.”

The doctor eyed them both warily. “Is this another of your games, John Riley?”

John shook his head. “No, he just dropped. I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”

“But Mordant is immune to Zhaldarian Flu.” Lines appeared across Dr Kasaria’s forehead. “I checked myself.”

“It’s not Zhaldarian Flu. He started groaning in pain and wrapping his tentacles around his stomach,” John said. “We’ve been to the Zaleta Nebula. Maybe he picked up something there.”

“
Help
!
” moaned Mordant in a voice of pure agony. He slipped to his knees, eyes rolling back in his head as he fell sideways, crashing into a trolley loaded with medical equipment. His hand reached out as if to find support. Grabbing at the trolley, Mordant brought it crashing down on top of himself.

“Meteor Medics!” shouted Dr Kasaria, leaping across the room. “Out of the way, John.”

Those were exactly the words John had been hoping to hear. “Yes, Dr Kasaria,” John said, stumbling backward. His hand reached out, searching for the panel he knew was there. Silently, a door slipped open. While the doctor knelt by Mordant’s head, straining to lift the trolley off his body, John stepped back. Closing the door again quickly, he sprinted to the end of the corridor and the room where he had last seen Kaal.

The room was empty apart from his friend’s bed. John breathed a quick sigh of relief. The Meteor Medic that had been there earlier had obviously been reassigned to a new emergency. Most of the machines and monitors around him had been switched off.

Does Dr Kasaria expect Kaal to die tonight?

John’s knees almost buckled when he looked down on his friend, knowing his guess was correct. Kaal’s body had wasted further in the few hours since John had last seen him. His skin had stopped changing colour, but patches of what appeared to be a coloured fungus were growing all over him. His withered body thrashed, and he moaned constantly.

“Kaal, can you hear me?”

No response. The Derrilian’s eyes remained closed. Even in his weakened state, his body strained against the straps that held him down.

Terror welled up in John.
What if it doesn’t work? What if I’m too late? What if...

“Get a grip, John. It
has
to work,” he hissed under his breath. John looked around and spotted an oxygen mask on a trolley in the corner of the room. Snatching it up, he fixed a nearby tube to the canister of gas and fed the tube into the mask. Leaning over Kaal, he pressed the mask to his friend’s face. “That’s right, mate, breathe it in,” he whispered as he watched the Derrilian’s chest rise and fall.

A few seconds later, Kaal stopped straining against the straps. With a drawn-out sigh, he collapsed against the bed.

Closing off the gas flow to the mask, John hesitated. He didn’t want to leave Kaal’s side, but there were hundreds of other sufferers. Knowing Mordant could only keep Dr Kasaria busy for so long, John ran to the next room.

By the time he returned to the reception area, Mordant seemed to be having a fit.
Turns out acting is another thing Mordant’s good at
, thought John. Mordant’s performance was worthy of an Oscar. Dr Kasaria and the Meteor Medics were trying to scan him, but his arms and tentacles kept whipping away the medical instruments, sending them smashing against walls. Holding his breath, John crept past, stepping through the disinfectant field and into the quarantine ward.

Here, the volume was almost deafening. Patients cursed and screamed at him and at each other, throwing themselves against their straps as they tried to attack anything. Keeping low, John raced past Doctor Graal. Her tentacles were weaving about crazily, while what John guessed was a stream of Gargon curses screeched from her drooling mouth. Only a handful of the flu victims had progressed beyond the violent stage of the disease and were laying quietly, and Emmie was among them.

Tears pricked John’s eyes as he reached her. His friend’s normally golden skin was blotchy and sludge green, her blue eyes bloodshot and staring blankly at the ceiling. With a heightened sense of urgency, John ducked down beside her bed and pushed the oxygen mask to her face. Allowing her to take several lungfuls, and hoping it was enough, he hurried over to the next bed. Through the screen he could see Dr Kasaria standing, her face like thunder. Mordant was also rising.

Realizing there was no time to dose every patient individually, John looked around frantically for a faster way to administer the gas. In one corner of the room stood a large oxygen tank. His eyes followed the tube that extended from it, and he realized that it was feeding oxgyen to every patient on the ward through their face masks. He quickly detatched the tube and reconnected it to the canister. As he watched, glowing blue gas passed through the clear tubes and slowly made its way into every oxygen mask.

“How dare you pretend you’re sick when all these people are suffering!” Dr Kasaria was shouting at Mordant, as John ducked back through the disinfectant field. “Wait until the headmaster hears about this.”

“But I
did
feel awful, Dr Kasaria,” Mordant replied, holding up his hands. “It just seems to have passed now. What could it have been?”

“Get out!” Dr Kasaria barked. She glanced over her shoulder to see John standing where she had pushed him when Mordant “collapsed”. “You too, John. I will be reporting you both for wasting my time during an emergency.”

“Well?” Mordant Talliver asked as the two of them headed for the TravelTube. “Did you make sure everyone got a dose of gas? Did you see any improvement?”

“All of them got some,” John replied, explaining how he had fed the gas into the oxygen system. “I don’t know if it worked – but maybe...” John remembered Kaal’s long sigh as his convulsions stopped. He shrugged. “Too soon to tell, really.”

“But you got
everybody
?” Mordant repeated, tugging at John’s sleeve.

“I hope so,” said John, shifting the remaining canisters in his arms. “Come on, there are the emergency wards to do yet.

“OK,” said Mordant, picking up his pace. “You distract the Meteor Medic this time; I’ll let off the gas.”

* * *

Once the canisters were empty, John and Mordant staggered back to the first-year dormitory level, exhausted almost beyond logic. Pausing outside of his dorm room, John looked at Mordant and asked, “Now what?”

“Now we wait and see if it worked.”

Shrugging, John said, “Well, goodnight, then.” Then as Mordant turned to go, John added, “Hey, and thanks, Mordant.”

Mordant nodded, then awkwardly raised a tentacle to give John a high five. “That’s what you Earthlings do, right?”

With a weary grin, John touched Mordant’s rubbery tentacle. Just then, a wailing siren sounded and a green force field froze them both in place.

In their exhausted state, neither boy had noticed the Examiner who had floated in, until it suddenly droned, “MAJOR INFRACTION OF RULES NINE-FIFTY-SEVEN, THREE-EIGHTEEN B, THREE-FIVE-SIX, AND TWO-TWO-FOUR SECTION C DETECTED. PUNISHMENT: SOLITARY CONFINEMENT.”